


I Know I'm The One You Want To Forget

by meanpancake



Series: Broken Dreams Club [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Other, vague Leverage AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanpancake/pseuds/meanpancake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milady and Athos fall for each other as teenagers. They fall out with each other as adults. That's the official version, the version the divorce papers tell. Then there's the truth that no amount of fighting or denying can change: They're in love, even when they're not, and nothing can keep them apart for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Every Song I've Ever Loved

**Author's Note:**

> This is Milady's and Athos' backstory, a prequel to [You Are Still Left With Your Hands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4002031/chapters/8989261). Can be read separately, though. Agender aro ace Athos is canon in this, too, but they haven't figured it out in this and the next chapter (so it could be read as misgendering, if you know YASLWYH). Warnings will be listed at each chapter's beginning.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Child abuse, alcoholism, bullying.

**I.**

… _we're so young but we're on the road to ruin_

  
  


“Let's welcome our new student, Anne de Breuil.”

Anne is sixteen and she's new to school. It's a fancy school – her new class mates are rich spoiled kids, their mere presence making her skin crawl with the need to lash out before  _they_ get a chance to attack -, and the principal had told her to take this for what it allegedly is: A  _last_ chance. 

They say she's brilliant, but unmanagable. Too sharp, too arrogant, too uncomfortable a person to be around for teachers and peers alike, too easily bored in class, too proud. She regularly gets into arguments, and while she herself mostly sticks to words, others are prone to make it physical when they can't help themselves verbally anymore. Well, she isn't one to run from a fight. (She wins, with bloody lips and bruises and loose strands of hair, smiling smugly. They fear her. Hate her. Until she switches schools, and the game begins anew.)

_This is your last chance to make use of your potential. Start over. You know what's at stake. Don't disappoint me, and, more importantly, don't disappoint yourself_ . She'd snorted about the phrasing, because the principal may be a kind woman, but what does she know? Nothing. It won't be the last school she's new to. There's no reason to believe that this time could be different. She doesn't belong, never has, probably never will. Especially not in an environment crowded with these... snobs.

“Please take a seat, Anne.” The teacher turns to class: “The lesson will continue now, let's talk about the different approaches to the text we've read.”

She makes her way to the back of the room. The others look at her like she's foreign matter (the label 'poor' written all over her, apparently), and they start whispering, giggling, pointing. Let them. Anne doesn't care. She flashes them a smile, the sweetness not overlaying the acid boiling underneath. They will soon enough find out that she's not to be messed with.

There's a free seat, right next to a posh-looking boy who sports an expression that can only be discribed as  _weltschmerz_ , and she's about to roll her eyes when he moves his text book to the middle of the table. He doesn't look at her, doesn't say anything, but the tip of his index finger marks the paragraph they're at. Just like that.

Anne sits down, watching him from the side.

She's... intrigued.

_ Shit _ .

 

*

  
It happens in a break between classes. Athos is minding his own business, as usual, as some of his class mates corner him. They don't like him, because in this illustrious school where everyone – well, _almost_ everyone – comes from a wealthy family with a good name, he's still treated like an extra special snowflake. (The De la Fères are big sponsors, and the never let anyone forget about that. And Athos' 'comrades' never let him forget that they never forget. It's an almost perfect circle, really.)

“We've seen you hang out with Anne.” 

Athos shrugs. Anne... keeps him company, sometimes. Well, she used to, before she became popular - against all odds and obstacles - and was voted captain of the cheerleading team. And the science club. And the debating society. They admire her as much as they loathe her, 'Anne the social climber' as they call her behind her back. If she ever overhears them, she smiles them into submission and shame. She's, well,  _brilliant_ . 

“Why don't you ask her out?” Not waiting for a reply, the group starts laughing. It's a vicous laughter, meant to degrade him publicly, and what can he say? It works, and he looks down to the floor. 

“It's amazing how you're such a failure even with the backing from your family.” 

Another burst of multiple-voiced laughter. Other may have considered this bullying. In Athos' eyes, this is harmless. Hurtful, yes, but nothing he's not heard from his own father on a regular basis. It doesn't matter what he does, he always has to work harder, faster, better than other people to get the same amount recognition – and he's not talking about school. So whatever they say, it's not like it's news to Athos.

Suddenly everyone falls silent. He looks up just in time to see how Anne  _parts_ the group, her face dead-serious, and Athos feels heat crawling up his neck because  _she must've heard_ . He looks down, silently praying that she doesn't give him the final blow when she factually has no reason to spare him, when she takes his hand. 

“Date me, Athos.”

_What...?_

The silence stretches and he looks up, at her, seeing a smile too bright to be completely real, but her eyes, her eyes are honest, and fierce, and so he nods, quietly. Everyone is stunned into silence, literal spechlessness, as Anne starts walking, dragging him with her, never letting go of his hand.

Anne is his knight in shining armour.

 

*  
  


It's graduation night and she's picked out the dress carefully. It is deep red, expensive, exquisite, and pretentious. It's also borrowed. She'll be prom queen, Anne figures, and she has to look striking. The underdog, now  _Her Majesty_ for the night. The idea of it makes her smile as she fixes a strand of hair that was out of place. She looks at the watch. Athos should be here in a minute.

The feeling building up in her chest is warm and affectionate.

“Annie...?” 

Coldness runs down her back, destroying the warmness, and she turns hastily and finds her mother standing in the room. She was not supposed to be here. Not tonight. Dread bites at her insides.

“Annie, what are you doing?” Her mother's speech isn't slurred, but the way her eyes flicker across the room is off, it's obvious, it's always the same and Anne wants to cry. “What's all this?”

“Prom, mom.” 

Her mother steps closer, and Anne takes a step back, but it doesn't matter. The change is sudden but doesn't come as a surprise. Not for Anne. Not anymore. Angry lines form around her mother's eyes and mouth, as she asks: “Where's the money from for all- all  _this_ ? Did you steal from me?” 

“It's borrowed. I saved the money. I'd never take anything from you,” she replies carefully, softly. 

It does not calm her anger. “You're lying, Annie. I know you're lying. Better tell me the truth.” The stench of alcohol is omnipresent now, and Anne shakes her head.

“I'm not, I _swear_.” 

Her mother strikes fast, and hard. Anne flinches - the pain white and the betrayal crimson -, and squeezes her eyes shut. “You're not gonna lie to me, girl. Now get out of this dress and take off the makeup, you look like a whore.”

Anne doesn't move, doesn't dare breathe, until her mother leaves the room. She's shaking. Tears run down her face, and they ruin her mascara, her eyeliner, but it doesn't fucking matter, because she's not going to prom. Not with a cheek as red as her dress. Not like _this_.

She steps out of the dress, throws on a loose summer dress, wipes at her eyes. Black smears cover her face but it's better than the shame. Without telling her mother, she runs out of the house, and there it is, the limousine Athos has promised her, and she starts crying more violently, more vocally.

Athos is at her side in the blink of an eye, wrapping her in his arms, gently touching her hair, the back of her head.

“Please, let's just get out of here,” she forces out and it's a sob, and Athos nods immediately, guiding her into the car: “Yes, of course, wherever you want to go. Driver? Change of destination.” 

“Your father won't be pleased, sir.” 

“It's on me, just get us out of town.” 

“As you wish, sir.” 

Anne doesn't say anything anymore, resting her head against Athos' shoulder, holding his hand so tightly it must hurt – it certainly hurts her -, but he doesn't complain. He just looks at her, earnestly, and says: “I love you.”

She bites at her bottom lip and stares out of the window.

(Later that night, in some dim-lit pub in the next town, Athos gives her a small tiara, and in any other situation she'd be mock-offended that he thought there was even the possibility of her losing the election, but now it makes her cry again, and then laugh.  _I love you, too, you know._ Athos smiles.) 

 

*

 

“Marry me, Athos.” 

They are sitting in a bus to one of Athos' family's summer houses, and Anne has her legs in Athos' lap, and he has placed a book on top of them, reading and reading out particularily ridiculous passages to her. The question (if it's even a question) takes him by surprise. His heart beats against his chest, against his lungs, at least that's how it feels, and he looks up. Anne smiles, but her eyes are serious.

It's the summer before they'll both attend university – different universities, that is -, and they decided to spend as much time together as possible. They promised not to break up, and long-distance relationships are in now anyway, right?, and it's been settled.

“Excuse me?” 

“Marry me.” 

Athos feels a little trapped, not because he doesn't love Anne, not because of what his family will say, not because of any of that – but because of himself. How could she want to...? Him. Of all people?

He reminds himself that he loves her, that she loves him back, and says: “Yes. I will marry you.”

“Excellent,” Anne smiles, and touches his cheek. “It would have been awkward, if you'd said no.” 

“I could never.” _Never_. It's true, and it has to suffice to shut down the voices whispering of lies and pretense. Never. 

 

*

 

The church is small, rural, but it's charming and intimate. They are standing in front of the altar, holding hands, alone with the priest who recites a passage from the bible. They're both not really listening, they're too giddy and excited.

Anne wears a white dress with floral patterns (because that's the closest resembling a wedding dress that she could find at the small country store) and she dyed her hair, blond for the wedding photos as another surprise, and instead of a veil she wears a big hat. Athos looks ridiculously handsome in black jeans, a plain white shirt, and a bow tie with black and white stripes.

The rings (golden, not fitting too well) were cheap, a huge fake diamond on top of hers, and they don't quite match, but somehow they're sufficent. Athos said that they'd do it again, the wedding, a  _real_ wedding, and she'd laughed and told him he was enough for her. 

The priest is about to close the ceremony, when Athos interrupts him: “I have to say something first. Please.” The priest doesn't look happy, but he gestures him to continue. He looks at Anne, gives her a small smile, and says: “I love you. I've loved you the first second I saw you, and I'm so grateful that you're not a coward like me and made the first move. You're the most brilliant person I know. You outshine the sun. No matter what happens in the future, I'll never regret out time together, and I'll never regret this.” In a softer voice he adds: “We will always find each other. You are my fate.”

Anne kisses him right then, ignoring the noise of protest from the priest, and whispers: “I'm yours.”

  
  



	2. Give Me Your Filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Violence (choking/strangulation, gun violence, blood), death, mentions of someone affiliated with Nazism, and use of gendered slurs.

**II.**

_… band-aids don’t fix bullet holes_

 

 

“Sign these.”

Anne looks up. It’s summer, and she’s sitting at the table in the kitchen, reading and making notes, and the sun covers her with warm light. Athos’ voice, a contrast to the beautiful summer day, is bland and weak and… cold. She looks up, and he hands her a pack of papers, not meeting her eye once.

“Are you…?” Her voice breaks as realization dawns on her. “Are these divorce papers?”

Athos nods, a tiny movement of his head, almost ashamed, and something inside Anne shatters. It’s sudden, unexpected, and it doesn’t make _sense_. It hurts. It hurts so much. She watches Athos, who seems to be entirely out of place. In their own home. That he just wrecked. He just… _ruined_ it. Anne doesn’t want to laugh, but it’s out before she can control it. Bitter and pained. Her heart sets a furious pace, anger and sadness equally ablaze, and the only reason she doesn’t get up right then and leaves, is the strict reign of her pride that makes her keep a calm façade.

She doesn’t read the divorce papers, she doesn’t need to, she doesn’t _care_ , and flips to the last page. The way she moves her pen across the paper contains so much force that she almost rips it apart. _Anne de la Fère_. Her name, pitch-black, like her heart’s blood. Bile rises in her mouth as the ink dries, and finalizes the end of her marriage. The end of her relationship. The end of Athos and her.

“Thank you,” Athos says in a small voice, and now she can’t stand his presence anymore, not here, not anywhere, and her heart screams why, _why_ , but none of it matters, because he betrayed her in the worst way possible. Thank you? Thank you for not making a scene. Thank you for signing and setting me free. Thank you for the years, our time, your support, your love. Thank you, but this is it. _Thank you._ Thank you twists the knife, and the blade goes in deeper and deeper, until she can’t breathe properly. Out. She needs out.

Anne gets up abruptly, knocking the chair over, and she wants to tell Athos that she will never forgive him as she pushes him aside. Their bodies touch, and she catches his look from the corner of his eyes and _sees_ that he knows. And that this knowledge didn’t stop him.

Anne’s heart stops bleeding and freezes. She leaves him standing by the table, sunlight dancing around him, and fights her tears.

She doesn’t hear Athos’ soft _I’m sorry_ anymore. 

 

*

 

Anne de Breuil. Anne de la Fère. _Anne_. Anne is cursed. Anne’s mother is an abusive alcoholic and Anne’s husband is a treacherous coward. Anne’s mother is dead in her grave and Anne’s husband is dead to her. They are shadows and they are the past. And Anne will stay in the past, too.

She calls herself Milady de Winter from this day on, initially her stage name, and isn’t it fitting? The girl who was born as Anne transcends herself and breathes life into a fantasy. She becomes Milady. Milady who is a promise. Milady who is hope. Milady who is strong and independent and won’t be hurt again by _anyone_.

Anne’s death is Milady’s birth, and Milady doesn’t cry when she moves out of the apartment and into a shared flat on campus. Milady continues her studies, her career, her life. And this is the difference between Anne and Milady: Anne was a survivor, but Milady won’t need to become one too.

 

*

 

Just-" Athos covers his face with his hands, avoids looking at her, at all costs, and shrugs weakly. "Give her anything she wants, ok? Fuck, give her _everything_. I don't care. I just want to get this over with."

Milady hates him in this moment, cold and vicious. "I don't want anything from him," she tells her lawyer and before anybody can stop her, before she can stop herself, she flings herself at Athos, grabbing his face so he has to _look_ at her. "You're a coward. Nothing but a coward.“

Silence. And she laughs, bitterly, as she turns away. “You don’t know me, you _never_ knew me, because if you did, you’d not insult me with offers of money and material goods. All I ever wanted from you…” She laughs again. “It doesn’t matter. I hope your money keeps you warm at night…”

Milady walks out on Athos for what she promises herself is the last time.

They are done. For good.

 

*

 

The first time it happens it’s… well, it’s an _accident_. She doesn’t know it even happened until after, when Flea grins at her with sparkling eyes, kisses her cheek, and says: “You’re a natural. Come find me, if you want to repeat this delightful display of your skills.”

Winking, Flea puts one of the delicate diamond earrings into her hands, one of the pair they’d stolen – that _Milady_ has helped steal -, and leaves her. Alone in her dorm room, a rush of blood filling her ears, Milady’s heart jumps with adrenaline and her head spins with perplexity. She turns the small trinket in the palm of her hand, watching it break the light. It feels warm, precious.

“I’m a natural,” she tells herself, smiling now, trying to convince herself that what moves inside her chest isn’t pride, no, just relief that she didn’t get caught. She keeps the earring, not as a trophy, definitely not as a trophy, and looks at it from time to time, letting pride wash over her.

(She meets Flea again. After every theft, once the rush has worn off, and she finds herself with yet another piece of jewelry that she shouldn’t keep, she tells Flea that it was the last time. “Sure, treasure,” Flea says, laughing softly, and: “Call me when you change your mind.” Never _if_ , always _when_. Milady shakes her head. Flea knows her too well.)

 

*

 

Milady never graduates. It bores her. The people, the routine, the rules. She doesn’t need to, either, because she gets by just fine without a ‘funded education’. So she abandons college, knowing that if she ever wants to return, she has the financial means to do so. But first, she wants _live_.

Whoever claimed that crime doesn’t pay clearly did it wrong, she thinks, dropping a solid gold coin into a wishing well in the city core before she leaves for the station.

 

*

 

“You tricked me,” the man, her former employer, hisses. “Give it back, or I will kill you, you goddamn bitch.”

Milady would laugh if Mr. Wagner - a wealthy German business man who also happens to be a private collector of Nazi relics - didn’t choke her with a thin steel rope. She can barely breathe, but she’s too proud to beg for air, too stubborn to struggle, and she knows Wagner wants his manuscript back _really_ badly.

“Where is it?”, he asks again, sounding somewhat desperate underneath the fury that dominates his voice, the way he pulls at the rope. He loosens his grip, though, and Milady gasps for air, her throat burning like fire, her head light and throbbing, heart racing.

“Fuck you,” she spits and he grabs her hair, pulling her head back, so she has to look at him.

“ _Tell me._ ”

“I,” she begins breathlessly, knowing it will seal her death sentence, and not caring, not in the least, “, _burned_ it.”

Wagner yells something in German – “Dreckige Fotze, scheiße, _scheiße_!” -, and cuts her laughter short by snapping the rope so tight that she blacks out shortly. She knows it’s hubris that got her into this mess, that will kill her, hubris and her absurd need to be a morally impeccable criminal.

Milady’s sight is blurred with tears, she wants to breathe, she wants nothing more than to _breathe_ , when a shot sounds through Wagner’s basement. His body drops to the floor so sudden that she falls down with him, wet blood on the floor, not hers, _his_ , and her lungs hurt, her entire body hurts, but she giggles hysterically with relief, turning her head to look at the person who killed Wagner, who could kill her next, but can only make out a dark silhouette.

“Thanks,” she breathes, she _breathes_ , “if you shoot me too, at least burn this place down for me.”

The person holds out a hand to her, and she grasps it. They pull her up and she’s nauseous and dizzy, looking at countless stolen, illegal artifacts that Wagner had put on display down here.

The stranger gestures her to go upstairs, and she does, her throat pulsating with pain.

Some minutes later, they join her outside, as the mansion lights up. No alarm, no security, just greedy flames consuming Wagner’s beloved collection, Wagner’s body, Wagner’s home, Wagner’s legacy. They part with a nod.

The next morning, Milady watches the burnt-out skeleton of Wagner’s mansion on the news, soothing her wound with ice, knowing it will scar, not finding it in herself to care.

Milady’s a survivor too.

 

*

 

When Treville calls her, it’s unexpected. Last she heard from Athos’ adoptive dad was before the divorce, which lies years in the past. She doesn’t know how he got her number, but he was always inventive when it came to things like that.

‘Anne,’ he says and she can hear the warm affection he’d always held for her.

“It’s Milady now.”

‘Milady it is, then. I don’t want to take up your time, so I’ll get straight to the point,’ Treville continues and he sounds as kind as always, ‘I want to ask you to meet me for dinner sometime. Whenever you’re around and it’s convenient. Of course, you don’t have to.’ Milady feels Anne’s sadness burning underneath her layer of cool neutrality. ‘But if you were to accept my invitation…. I’d be delighted.’

“I’ll think about it.”

‘Thank you, Milady. I hope to hear from you again.’

He hangs up and she stares at her phone.

(She calls Treville, months later, and he’s as happy as if she’d called a mere day after his invitation. She’s reluctant but happy to be met with such joy. They set up a date. Milady doesn’t know who’s the bigger fool: Treville or herself.)


	3. Make It Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athos changes to they/them pronouns in the fifth paragraph.   
> Warnings: Depression, alcoholism, murder (implied), mentioned Nazism.

**III.**

_… say you’ll see me again (even if it’s just pretense)_

 

“Sign these.”

As soon as the words are out, anxiety explodes in Athos’ chest, pulling him down, down, so far down that he thinks he must drown in the depths of his shame. He can’t breathe. This is not what he wanted. This is not what he was supposed to say. This was not the plan, this was so far away from the plan that he wants to bite his tongue off. Of all the things he could’ve… of all the things he’d meant to… this? But it’s too late to regret that now, isn’t it?

He sees Anne looking up and extends his hand – his hand holding the goddamn _divorce papers_ -, not able to look at her, because he knows that if he does, he won’t go through with it. He loves her too much to hurt her, that’s what he always thought, but the truth is he hurts her now, he hurts her deliberately, out of the blue, and he won’t forgive himself for it. But it must be done.

“Are you…? Are these divorce papers?” Anne sounds shaken, her voice thin but sharp.

Athos makes himself nod, bile in his mouth, heart racing painfully, staying silent despite wanting to tell her that he’s doing it for her, that she deserves better, that he has to let her go before it’s too late. That he’s just trying to do right by her.

He’s frozen, absurdly cold in the summer sun, and he hears Anne sign the papers. Instead of saying _I love you_ and _I’m sorry_ , he says _Thank you_ , and Anne gets up so fast that his eyes can’t quite follow, the sound of the chair hitting the floor, the sound of his pulse overlaying everything, and for a moment their eyes meet. Time stops. She won’t forgive him. (She’s not alone in that sentiment.)

Anne leaves, Athos stays.

“I’m _sorry_.” A broken, pathetic sound filling the emptiness that is his new life now.

 

*

 

With Anne gone, Athos’ life slowly falls apart.

At first, he doesn’t really notice. He forgets small, insignificant things (like eating breakfast, setting his alarm, or texting back), and it doesn’t have a great impact on his life. When it gets worse, and missing Anne and hating himself take over most of his time, it does have an impact, severely so, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care anymore. Instead of eating he starts drinking, excessively, he doesn’t show up to class or work, stops paying the bills, turns off his phone, and doesn’t leave the apartment, until he’s as dead to the world as he’s dead to himself. To Anne.

He has a problem, Athos thinks as he sits in the dark, on the floor, and stares at the bedroom wall. His sight is blurry, he can’t tell whether he’s cold or not, and if someone asked him what day it was… Well, it’s pretty obvious that he has a problem, isn’t it? He laughs, but his voice is so raw and _bitter_ that it startles him and leaves him in tears. Pathetic.

This is not the man Anne deserves. He is not the man Anne deserves. Something about that, ‘man’, makes him sob, and he can’t explain it to himself, he just knows that it _hurts_.

So he drinks it away, the pain and the longing and the regrets, well aware that Anne would despise him for it if she knew. _Weak_ , she’d call him in that cutting voice she’d always used when she talked about her mother, even at her funeral, even at her grave, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her otherwise. Athos is weak, undoubtedly, undeniably so.

Weak. Weak, weak, weak, weak. His father’s words spoken with Anne’s voice. He can’t stand to hear them, he can’t, and so he drowns them out, drowns them in alcohol, drowns himself in apathy.

Athos closes his eyes, dizzy, sick, about to pass out again, and really, who even cares? He knows he doesn’t.

He just doesn’t care.

 

*

 

Of course, there’s the question. _The_ question. It’s a simple question: Why? Why did he divorce Anne – _Milady_ , it’s Milady – in such a rush? Why didn’t he wait for this feeling (this feeling of wrongness, of deceit, of betrayal towards her) to pass? Why didn’t he talk to her before finalizing the papers?

The truth is that Athos doesn’t know. But then again, he doesn’t know anything anymore. Especially not here, in this tiny room, confronted with lawyers and his soon-to-be ex wife. He doesn’t dare look at Milady. It’s hard to breathe, knowing that she hates him now. It’s even harder to breathe, thinking that one day she will not even hate him anymore, and he will become a memory, a story at best, that she feels indifferent about.

Athos swallows heavily, craving a drink.

His lawyer talks, that’s all he ever does, talking, and he can’t listen to him anymore. “Just- Give her anything she wants, ok?” He looks at his hands and they are shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s withdrawal or anxiety or both, but he knows it will get worse. “Fuck, give her _everything_. I don't care. I just want to get this over with."

“I don’t want anything from him.”

Athos bites his lip at her distant tone, but what else did he expect? That he could buy her forgiveness? That he could buy _anything_ from her? He regrets ever opening his mouth. She’s proud and she doesn’t need him or his money. He knows that. He always knew.

Suddenly, Milady is in his lap, and she’s radiating, grabbing his face, forcing his eyes up, so he will look at her, and he does, and _I’m sorry_ flies to his lips and dies right there, because it’s an empty excuse, meaningless, weak.

“You’re a coward. Nothing but a coward.”

She lets go of him, as abruptly as she’s flung herself onto him, and Athos looks down again.

_I know._

 

*

 

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. At least Athos _hopes_ it’s an accident, finding himself stained with dirty red and without memory on the floor of his own home. His heart beats too fast, and he feels bruises on his chest, the strain of dried blood on his face, and the pulsing of his knuckles’ broken skin. The taste of salt and copper and something bitter, something he can’t identify, makes him spit out. He’s shaking, now.

What the…? What did he _do_?

Athos tries to get up, but his head is spinning, pulling his already heavy body down with force, and he feels like throwing up. Which, in itself, is familiar enough to calm him down for a moment. He got drunk, yes, but he doesn’t remember going out? Maybe he went to buy more… and started a fight? Tried to break up a fight? Fell down the stairs somewhere?

“This is ridiculous,” he breathes into the silence, squeezing his eyes shut. (It hurts. Good.) Maybe… someone beat him up and robbed him? Athos reaches into his pocket, his fingers closing around- warm metal? Not his wallet, definitely not his wallet, and as he brings it to light he suddenly _knows_ what happened and panic consumes him wholly.

The switchblade he drunkenly ordered a few days ago is bloody.

 

*

 

‘Killing of Connor Tondreau, 42, still unsolved. Police are continuing investigation.’

Athos reads the headline (it didn’t even make it to the print-issue anymore, it’s only part of the online issue, and not even an important one), calmly following the link to the article. It’s been 7 weeks, and somehow Athos has gotten away with murder. For now.

During the initial breakdown, during the first media reports when the case was blown up and hyped, during panic attacks, during withdrawal and suicide considerations, during the worst of it, basically, Athos has come to terms with a few things: One, when the mysterious killer is described in a gender-neutral way, something feels right, settled, and it’s ironic that they had to murder someone to finally be in this place.

Two, Athos is a killer.

Three, even worse, a killer with little to no regrets.

Four, Connor Tondreau deserved to die, but that was a lucky coincidence.

Five, they’ll do their research beforehand next time.

(Six, there will be a next time.)

 

*

 

Killing on contract - it’s Athos’ business now. They’ve perfected their skills, they’ve schooled themself to stop feeling guilt, and it’s like they never did anything else. Maybe, they think, they were born for this. Alone, someone who kills for money they don’t even need, a coward, a monster.

The people they murder… they aren’t good people, but they themself are not a good person either. If the others deserve death, then they also deserve to die. They silently hope that someone will kill them one day. (Athos still believes in justice and balance. They try to, at least.)

Karl Wagner has the money to afford buying their services. Athos briefly thinks about killing him on the spot (he’s a Nazi, and a proud one at that), but then Wagner shows them the picture of their target. Milady. _Milady_.

“That one, that _filth_ , she knows too much. She’s to deliver an artifact, after that take her out. My man told me you’re discreet, so I trust that the body will disappear.” Wagner’s smile is that of a man who is used to power. “First half now, second half after the job is done. Do we have a deal?”

Athos looks at Milady’s picture again, nods, wordlessly, and clasps hands with Wagner.

What Wagner doesn’t know is that he just condemned himself to death.

(Milady is beautiful, still, forever, and as they touch her hand and help her up from beneath Wagner’s body, her eyes wild and _alive_ , something in Athos’ chest mends. They are done.)

 

*

 

Showing up at Treville’s is not what they planned. But after Germany, after Milady, after barely saving her from Wagner’s wrath, there’s nowhere else they can go to. No home, no safe space, even though they long for nothing more.

Athos opens the door, familiarity hitting them with the force of multiple fists, and their first impulse is to fall to their knees and ask Treville for absolution, to ask for guidance, to ask why all of this had to happen.

“You didn’t tell me,” is what Treville says first, his face serious and disappointed, his eyes troubled, and he puts both of his hands on Athos’ shoulders. “You should’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Treville shakes his head, pulling them into an embrace. “ _I’m_ sorry.”

It’s the first time in months that Athos feels as though there may still be a way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on [tumblr](http://leverageau.tumblr.com/).


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